King For A Year
by Camilla10
Summary: Meet the Mate contest entry. After escaping his Etruscan masters a runaway slave becomes king and is promised a Goddess' love. But the catch is that he will be just king for one year and then he will be killed. Plus, being a sophisticated Greek, he doesn't believe in the Goddess' arrival…


Alexander

I couldn't sleep. To have ended up among superstitious savages after escaping my cruel Etruscan masters seemed to me the ultimate cosmic joke. Oh yes, the priests here worshipped me; they gave me everything I wanted, apart from freedom. I had the softest bed, garments made of whitest linen and of the smoothest wool, I was given any food available I might request, and as much wine as I could drink, although they never thought to add resin to it and I missed the taste. Zeus, I missed everything about my home! How I longed to be back to Parthenope, to see my father and my younger siblings again.

They must believe me dead by now, as I'm sure I'll be in a handful of months. I was granted one year only, and then another desperate man would be allowed to come, try to kill me and become the new King, if successful. I had done the same, apparently at least, because the former King had practically thrown himself on my dagger. Before that, he had mumbled something, first in a language unknown to me and then in broken Greek:

"She is gone," he had rasped, "my Goddess is gone, on her silver chariot … she has left, I won't see her again …" Evidently the loss had been so devastating that it had made the poor wretch mad and had taken away his desire to live. Then a crowd came, and they hailed me as the new king.

Indeed, the Goddess. Oh come on, how could they be so credulous? Or think I would fall for it? Some priestess would take the role and take me to her bed. Would I go for it? Should I go for it? Unbidden, Velia's face came to my memory. Not beautiful according to the Greek canon, but still very attractive, with her sandy tresses and olive skin - a combination that said that her ancestry wasn't completely Etruscan.

The point, however, was that Etruscan ladies were so much freer than Greek ones, I mused. Even if in the colonies the rules for women were less strict than in our motherland, what Velia and her peers were allowed to do was unthinkable. They did as they pleased, mingled with men at banquets, and attended public events and games. But at least they were supposed to be faithful to their husband, surely. Not Velia, though. Too young for consorting with hetairas - or to afford one - and not attracted by boys, I was rather inexperienced when she found me alone at night in the workshop and silently encircled my waist with her perfumed arms. When she left me I wasn't so inexperienced anymore.

I was working late, trying to give form to a vase. What had saved me from hard field labour was that – when my father's ship was captured - it was transporting the finest pottery and the pirates, happy with their loot, realized I was not a humble sailor, but more likely a person of importance, since I had a cabin of my own.

And so I had been. My father produced decorated pottery of the best quality and exported it abroad with his own ships. This was the maiden voyage of our second vessel, the Athalia, and I was sent with her to learn the ropes of our trade.

I was hoping I could be ransomed – it happened – but the slave master I was delivered to decided I held more value as a ceramics expert. And so I was bought by an Etruscan vase manufacturer from Tarkna and asked to make a "Greek" crater for him.

I wasn't very good at it, unfortunately. While Father had made me try my hand at the pottery wheel, my expertise - if any – lay in knowledge, evaluation of provenience, quality and design. Disappointed, my master Mamarce had me whipped and then set me to work. In time he wanted to start a production of imitation Greek vases, but for the moment I had to learn to make the Etruscan signature black pottery.

I had to admit that it had its own elegance, and the technique was amazing: After the leather-hard clay pieces were arranged in the kiln and the fire started, the vent holes were closed, thus reducing the supply of air required normally. In the smoke-filled atmosphere, the air-starved flames turned the iron content of the clay, so that it changed colour from its natural red to black. I was learning – the hard way, as my back could testify - but I was learning. The night Velia came to molest me, the oinochoe I was making wasn't half bad. It never got finished, obviously, and I got whipped again. Looking at Mamarce's amused face – by now I knew enough Etruscan to understand he had instructed his man not to incapacitate me – I was glad I had put horns on his grey curls.

._.

At dawn I finally fell asleep. Not a very restful slumber, because the things I was remembering came to me again in the form of nightmares. The shock of Velia's duplicity: I was meant to kill her husband and pay for it, so she would be free to marry her true lover and enjoy her inheritance. But the plan backfired and in the confusion I was able to make my escape…

"Sire, Sire, forgive me, but the High Priest is here."

Cursing internally I rose, washed my face in the small basin the slave was holding for me and went in the anteroom.

"You are more than blessed," said the High Priest, "the Goddess is coming. Prepare yourself," he instructed before he turned abruptly and left.

Then the slaves descended on me. I was bathed, anointed with perfumed oils, massaged and, surprisingly, completely divested of body hair, apart from my head. I tried to protest, but I was told that it would be pleasing for the Goddess. Weird.

Finally, dressed in a pure white tunic, I was fed a light meal, which included hard boiled quail's eggs and the tiny delicious strawberries which are grown around the lake. I was then told to wait and rest, but I wasn't going to, because I felt like a cured piece of meat ready for cooking and the whole charade enraged me.

Some time later I realized that I was alone in my chambers. My personal slaves had disappeared. In the distance I heard chanting and people approaching. Peering from my window, I saw a small crowd marching and wondered if they were coming for me, but they weren't. The procession bypassed the palace and, headed by the Head Priest, proceeded downhill. I decided to follow at a distance, taking care not to be seen - there were enough road bends and tall bushes to ensure it. To this day I don't know why I didn't try to escape, since everybody was distracted. There was the fact that maybe they had posted sentries around the sacred hill and I feared that - supposed King or not - I would be punished, but what really stopped me was curiosity. I wanted, needed, to see this through.

In the meanwhile the procession had reached the small valley below: they stopped and I noticed that everybody was carrying flowers and looking at the sky. Night was coming when a ripple traversed the crowd. They were pointing at a particularly bright star. I too looked up and it seemed that it was coming down. But how was it possible?

A chant started anew, becoming louder and louder: "Bel-harah, Bel-harah, Bel-harah, BEL HARAH, BEL HARAH…"

The star was getting nearer and nearer but nobody showed any fear. On the contrary, there were smiles on every face, mixed with awe. The star turned out to not be a star, after all, it was a silver disk, topped by a low dome and it was descending on us. It was suspended over our heads when something happened: the area was flowed with light. Not even thousands of candles could be so bright. Everything was illuminated like it was day again. I ducked under a bush but still managed to watch, openmouthed. Not that anybody would have noticed me, because the disk, which had be standing in the air, was still descending slowly, silently.

It was big, but not overly so. Something like a small temple, I would say, had I been able to say anything. Three shiny legs emerged from the disk's belly, touched ground and were still. The crowd started throwing flowers on the earth, creating a beautiful multicolored carpet. Then an invisible door opened and a staircase descended.

And from the door…

…somebody emerged. A strange creature which had arms and legs, but made of some hard material, or just covered with it, like it was a carapace, or an armor. Was it gold? Where the head should have been, there was not a helm, but a sort of bubble. _Oh, it is a monster for sure_ , I thought with horror, until one golden hand went to the bubble and removed it. It remained tied to the back.

Under the bubble there was a human head, a woman's head. And it was the most beautiful face I had ever seen. Framed by dark tresses her skin was white as a lily, her lips red as blood and her eyes like the richest honey.

I found I was standing because I couldn't help myself, because this was indeed a Goddess, not some masquerading priestess. She had come to claim me and I was hers.

The sounds of the crowd were now muted to my ears, the continuing chanting Bel-harah, Bel-harah just a background noise. _Is it her name, what is her name?_

She was still on top of the staircase looking around, first to the ground then higher, until her gaze found me.

Notes

Well, I didn't win anything, but it was fun writing it. This plot bunny has been with me for a long time. I owe thanks to Giulio and Angiolo for content and to Raum, my pre reader and to the HobbitIvy for editing.

Edward, the Twilight names website tells me, means "protector" or "wealth protector". Alexander means protector, defender. So yes, our hero is Edward with a Greek consistent name.

The story – happening some 6 or 5 hundred years BC, owes its main concept to _The Golden Bough,_ writtenby the Scottish anthropologist Sir James George Frazer (1854–1941). With it the author attempted to define the shared elements of religious belief and scientific thought, discussing fertility rites, human sacrifice, the dying god, the scapegoat and many other symbols and practices whose influence has extended into twentieth-century culture. His thesis was that many old religions were fertility cults that revolved around the worship and periodic sacrifice of a sacred king. Frazer proposed that mankind progresses from magic through religious belief to scientific thought. This thesis was developed in relation to J. M. W. Turner's painting of _The Golden Bough_. It was a transfigured landscape in a dream-like woodland surrounding the lake of Nemi, just South of Rome. The king was the incarnation of a dying and reviving god, a solar deity who underwent a mystic marriage to a goddess . He died at the harvest and was reincarnated in the spring. Frazer claims that this legend of rebirth is central to almost all of the world's mythologies. He based his thesis on the pre-Roman priest-king at the sanctuary of Nemi, who was ritually murdered by his successor.

Parthenope is the ancient Greek name for Naples.

Alas, the Etruscan name for their shining black pottery has not reached us, so I cannot make Alexander use it. The name "bucchero", used by archaeologists to identify it, came much later and is of Portuguese origin: _bucáro_ means "odorous clay".

Ever heard of the _Cargo Cult_ , anybody? If you haven't, do Google it. Mine is a very early version.

This is obviously a glimpse of a much longer story. If I ever manage to write it.


End file.
